Entertaining Angels
by poetisa
Summary: How does joining EX reactions affect two Candidates? Rated for language, yaoi, yuri, and violence.
1. Introduction

Entertaining Angels  
  
Rating: R  
  
Genre: Drama/Romance  
  
Warning: Yaoi, yuri, some violence, and lime/lemon to come.  
  
Pairings: Zero/Erts (for a little while), Clay/Saki, Kizna/Ikhny, Hiead/Zero, Yamagi/Roose.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever owned, Megami Kouhosei. Sugisaki Yukiru created it; Gum Comics and Wani Books have the manga rights. Bandai, XEBEC, Studio Emotion, and Cartoon Network have anime rights. If I ever did acquire the rights to the series, the yaoi factor would be cranked up to 11. In lieu of said rights, I will accept Hiead/Zero doujinshi, a set of pins with the MK cuties, a "Seme/Uke" t-shirt set, and really good recipes for flan!  
  
~.~ indicates journal entries and/or correspondence . indicates thought {.} indicates telepathy  
  
Author's Notes  
  
First of all, I want to thank everyone who has read "Return of the Scatterling Angel." It's a labor of love, and your input is super. Thanks so much.  
  
Since there's a lot I can't cover in "Return," I want to return to those halcyon days at GOA, just after the VICTIM attack in Curriculum 11. You know the days: when Hiead and Zero were at each other's throats.  
  
But just how does linking EX affect the people involved? There's a mystery. Care to work it out? Then come with me, dear readers, and we'll explore together.  
  
I will only post the disclaimer once. That's all.  
  
Please let me know what you think. Feedback, comments, critique, praise, and flames are welcome. Don't be shy.  
  
Again, thank you all so much. Enjoy.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa)  
  
P.S. Do check out the Hiead/Zero mailing list at Yahoo!Groups. And say hi to Nozomi. 


	2. Zero Enna's Journal, Part One

Chapter One: Zero Enna's Journal, Part One  
  
After a grueling day of training, Zero Enna slipped back to the room he shared with Clay Cliff Fortran and Hiead Gner. He peeked into the bathroom, then inspected the corner where Hiead sometimes sat. After a quick glance at the clock, he took off his boots, rummaged under the mattress, and sat on his bed.  
  
He placed a pen and a thick journal with a blue cover on the bed, and after reviewing the previous entry, began writing.  
  
~Tuesday, 25 August 4209~  
  
~Some days, I wonder if the goddesses have put me here for their own amusement. Take today. Between Azuma reaming me out for being too enthusiastic, Kizna calling me a dickweed, and Hiead threatening to snap off my cojones and force-feed them to me, I almost wanted to face the VICTIM mothership. At least there, I'd know what I was up against.  
  
~Not that today was all bad---the Pro-Ing sessions went well, and I so totally rocked---just that I wasn't ready for the triple whammy at the end. Oh well.  
  
~I really would like a skip day: I'd spend half of it sleeping, and the other half stargazing. But I think the instructor would probably thrash me, then make me run 500 laps and write a 60-page essay on the importance of training. And for fun, he'd probably make me wait on my partner, wearing a sign that reads, "I'm Dead From The Neck Up," so nobody misses the point.  
  
~And what, pray tell, is the point? Repeat after me boys and girls: "Zero Enna is an obnoxious, loud, self-absorbed flake!" Granted, I'm not as bright as Clay. I can't formulate a battle strategy the way that Hiead does. I don't have Kizna's knack for mechanics, or the sweet temper that Roose does. Sure, I can crack jokes, and I know I've cheered up people in the past. Most of the time, I don't mind being Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.  
  
~Lately, though, I don't much feel like being the butt of the joke. I do a pretty fair job of busting my knuckles on the walls, the headboard, occasionally on Hiead's jaw---but, truth be told, I'd rather be by myself these days. Ha. Like I can get away with telling everyone, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," when I'm in a foul mood. Oh, no. Zero Enna never has a bad day. He always bounces back in any situation.  
  
~Oh, my dear, dear friends, I have a news flash for you: today, I do not want to bounce back. I want to scream till I have no voice. I want to start the biggest food fight in that hellhole they call a cafeteria. I want to lie back and have a long, long cry. I'm tired of putting on a damned fake smile.  
  
~Whew. Okay, I'm almost done venting. It's not like I want to stay sullen and pissed off forever---just wouldn't mind being able to sit down and talk with someone. Kizna would tell me to do something constructive. Hiead would laugh himself stupid. As for Clay, I think he'd probably try to psychoanalyze me. And Erts is a little too far away. E-mail's not the same as a live human being who sees, hears, and understands you.  
  
~And frankly, I'm not sure I understand myself. I thought the dreams I had of my home colony, and of my mother, were weird. The dreams I've been having these past few weeks are something else. And the most recent one is a kicker: I'm eight years old, in some apartment, in a city, with a man old enough to be my father (well, he tells me he's my father) beating the crap out of me for bringing home a carton of chocolate milk from the grocery. I try to tell him the lady who runs the store gave it to me, in addition to the bread and milk I bought for us. He calls me a liar, a snotty runt, and lays into me with a belt. Says, "Should have known a little ingrate like you would disobey me." Lays into me again, and tells me, "You should have been stillborn."  
  
~It ends like a lot of dreams have, these days: with me climbing into bed, clinging to some ratty little toy elephant, and crying myself to sleep. I know that's not really my father. I never lived in a big city. Mother was never that harsh, not even when I did step out of line. But it feels so--- like one of those visions where angels wound saints, and they see the world in a new light. And I have woken up, more than once, with welts and bruise marks. Once I woke up, with slashes across my back. I know I didn't get these in any fight. I'd like to know where I did get them.  
  
~I've been getting up early, just to see where I've been marked up, and to clean myself without drawing attention. Not an easy feat. Especially since, lately, Hiead has been waking up at odd hours. Why? Who knows? It's all so surreal.  
  
~Well, I think I'll head off to dinner. Mother Kannon, deliver me! ~  
  
Zero closed the journal, hiding it and the pen under the mattress. He then glanced around the room again, and trudged to the cafeteria. Showtime, Enna. Let's give them what they want.   
  
Author's Notes  
  
I did say ahead of time that this was going to be R-rated. Please do bear with me. "Cojones" is Spanish for testicles.  
  
Coming up: an entry in Hiead Gner's journal. What's kept him up of late? Why are the two Zenoahs acting so strange? And how does this affect them? Stay tuned.  
  
As always, I welcome your input. Thank you.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa) 


	3. Hiead Gner's Journal, Part One

Chapter Two: Hiead Gner's Journal, Part One.  
  
Three in the morning: a figure crept into the Relaxation Room. A t-shirt and pajama pants covered a willowy, yet strong, body. Moonlight streamed in through a far window, falling onto silver-white hair. Eyes the color of garnets glanced this way and that, adjusting to the dimness in the room. Hiead Gner smiled: a glacial smile, with no trace of warmth.  
  
He ran toward a tree, pausing to reach into a hollow, and pulled out a small leather journal and pen. The youth went into a corner, opened the book, and began to write.  
  
~Friday, 28 August 4209~  
  
~Enna would like to think that he's the only one capable of something so ancient as keeping a journal: a blank book, a pen, and the ability to write as they did on Earth (and yes, on backwater colonies such as the one the brat calls home). Ha. So he can write reflections, thoughts, and comment on what happens during the day? So can I.  
  
~He likes to think he can outfox me, keep me from watching him at this ritual he now follows, every evening, after classes and before dinner. Misguided fool. He gets so absorbed in what he does that I can, if I move quietly, see him jot a few pages of an entry. Not that I've done so lately; he seems to have developed what they used to call a sixth sense. Very little eludes Zero Enna these days. And that makes me wonder.  
  
~I don't intend to ask him what he's thinking. Nor do I have any desire to speak with his Repairer, who seems perplexed that her partner is less open of late. As for consulting Fortran, I would sooner apply to Borstal Nine than deal with his analysis of the current situation. Besides, he'd probably apply to a Borstal if he took the guided tour through my psyche. And I'm convinced, anyhow, that Zero Enna, in his current state, requires an exorcist, not a shrink.  
  
~To be sure, he acts much as he always has: brash, confident, with that never-say-die air in his voice. He still laughs at his own jokes---hard enough, in some instances, to force milk through his nose---and his theme song might as well be "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." And yet, there's something else at work, and I can't place it. He wakes up, grabs his uniform, and rushes through the shower, instead of hogging the water, and strutting past Clay and me wearing a towel. His comments on the cafeteria swill are fewer and further between---much as I hate to admit it, he is right about the stuff. (How can the cooks take perfectly edible, even delicious, ingredients and produce something so offensive to the palate? Either Jai Hanuman runs the food service at GOA, or VICTIM has infiltrated the kitchens.)  
  
~But I'm not here to waste time, musing over Zero Enna. I do that enough during regular hours. Which is, perhaps, to say I have spent more time than usual mulling over the events of the past few months.  
  
~I've had dreams, of late, that disturb me. Not the ones where I'm stuck in some flophouse, with a man who beats me over the smallest infraction. Nor the ones where my so-called foster family sends me to the Abattoir district for "evaluation." Oh yes, having drugs pumped into my veins, electroshock therapy, and people wearing surgical masks and white coats prod me, and treat me as if I were livestock---so, dear old foster family, did they pay you enough to put me out of your misery? Not that it mattered so much, when VICTIM razed the labs built in and around those old slaughterhouses.  
  
~But, before my thought train derails, let me continue: lately, I've been dreaming about being on a rural colony. I'm about six years old, living in a small house, outside the nearest village. I wake up, in a bed with a quilt, in a room with a writing desk. I hear a voice call me: "Breakfast is ready, love." So I throw on my clothes and head downstairs. The woman at the table---is she my mother?---pushes strands of honey-brown hair from her face. She's wearing a faded turquoise print dress, fussing over a pair of trousers that need hemming. I know she's been up most of the night: she's taken in seamstress work, to make ends meet.  
  
~She's fixed a plate with poached eggs, potatoes, and fried trout. A smaller dish, with sweet rolls, cheese, and fresh blackberries, is just to the right of that. "So, little love, did you sleep well last night?" she asks, smiling at me. I nod. She puts down her work, and walks a few steps, to the kitchen. She comes back with a mug of hot chocolate. "Today's a special day, love. Your first day of school. Just think of the friends you'll make. You already know how to read and write, so you can follow the lessons without any trouble. And who knows what you'll discover there?" I eat breakfast, and drink the chocolate. She hands me a set of books, held together with a strap, kisses me on the cheek, and sends me off.  
  
~There's a stream near our house: to get to the village where the school is, I have to cross a bridge. Halfway across, I look down into the water, searching for tortoises and minnows. ("What's so unusual? People do dream about their childhood." Yes, but I don't see my reflection in the stream. Oh, there's a face, all right. But it's not my face.) The voice from the house calls out: "Rei! Go on, you don't want to be late."  
  
~I call out to her: "I'll see you this afternoon then, Mummy?" She walks to the bridge, and gives me a hug, saying, "Of course you will, little love, and you'll tell me all about the fun you've had today. Now get going." So, I kiss her goodbye, and wave, as she watches me walk to the village.  
  
~There's another dream I've had: I'm older, maybe in my twenties, and living near a beach. Not a manmade one, with a wave pool, a real beach, situated at the base of a bluff. I'm sitting at a table, in a bungalow, listening to October rain, while sipping a cup of coffee. A cat meows, running into the kitchen, and claims my lap. It fixes mismatched eyes on me, turns, and settles in. A figure steals up, behind me, putting hands on my shoulder. "Hiead," he murmurs, "what are you thinking?" I can't make out his face, but his voice---I swear I've heard it before. Somewhere between tenor and baritone.  
  
~A shrink might tell me that the first dream symbolizes my longing for a stable, more tranquil way of life, and that my inability to see my face echoes my inability to understand who I am. As for the second dream, I'd hear something to the effect that I have latent homosexual desires, and my unseen companion stands for the intimacy, which I both crave and fear. Although someone like Sigmund Freud would probably just say that it boiled down to repression and/or sexual immaturity. Ah, sod the psychobabble. I get a headache just thinking about it.  
  
~Maybe a religious individual would look for some kind of spiritual insight. You know, the goddesses are trying to tell me something. But what good is that, if I don't understand the message? You'd think Mother Kali could, at least, provide better translation.  
  
~Perhaps the most disturbing thing is that, well, I'm not the only one dreaming dreams. I've woken up, several nights, to see Enna thrash in his bed, as if he were trying to escape. But what, or who, does he need to escape? I've even heard him scream; it's a wonder he hasn't had a major EX reaction. But, as I said earlier, he seems more reserved about his body. He's even started making his bed, sorting laundry, and the like.  
  
~Something else: When I go for my shower, I notice traces of blood in the stall. Yes, I have drawn blood when he and I fight---and so has he. But I don't recall us fighting in our sleep. If we had, I think I'd have a mark or two. Is someone abusing this boy? He doesn't seem to flinch around the Seniors, and while he does start a bit around Instructor Azuma, somehow Enna manages to rile the man.  
  
~I'm lost for words. Won't ask if I'm going mad---can't go where I already am, eh? Thought I could sort out my thoughts if I wrote them down. They've just gotten more tangled than before. Dreams? Visions? Delusions? Who knows? ~  
  
Hiead paused, throwing the pen down. He looked at the shadows between the trees. Who's there? The grass rustled. He got up, running toward the sound. "Whoever you are---show your face! Now!"  
  
After scanning the room, Hiead returned to the corner where he sat earlier. He then closed the journal, replacing it and the pen in the hollow of the tree. He left the Relaxation Room, moving through the corridors, until he came to his room.  
  
Clay snored, turning onto his side. Zero lay sobbing in his bed, eyes shut, shielding his body against a phantom presence. "I'll be good, Daddy, promise, promise. I didn't mean to take that banana, but I was hungry--- please don't be mad at me," he muttered. "No, not the stove, please, don't, don't." Zero's voice rose: "Daddy! DADDY! Stop! NO!"  
  
Get in your bed now, Gner. If he wakes up and sees you staring, you will have a fight on your hands. Go on. Don't walk over. Don't lean in so close. Don't touch him. Idiot. Well, who's the bigger idiot here---Enna, or you, for watching the boy at such an unsafe distance?   
  
Hiead perched at the edge of his roommate's bed, studying Zero. Dark mocha hair stuck up at angles; cold sweat covered his face and throat. The scream subsided into whimpers, and he clutched at the palm of his right hand.  
  
You wanted to know what was the story. See if you can get a better look at the hand. Hiead's eyes widened: a dark red mark covered Zero's palm. It's a fresh mark. How does a boy burn his hand while asleep?   
  
He returned to his bed, and stared at the ceiling. Something's not right. He heard Zero's bed creak, and turned on his side, one eye shut, the other cracked half-open. Zero made his way to the bathroom; he came out with his hand wrapped in a gauze bandage.  
  
Hiead watched the boy return to his bed, then closed his eyes.  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Hello and thank you for reading. What do you think of the story so far?  
  
I'm not walking away from "Return of the Scatterling Angel" yet---I just thought I'd like to get a head start on the prequel. Since classes are starting next week, I may not be able to post every day, but I will do my best. You have my word.  
  
Calvin: thank you for the thumbs-up. Look for more of this tale. AnimeCat: Welcome! I am glad you enjoy the story. I believe Zero's mother may be dead (if not, I'll make corrections), and that his dreams are, primarily, dreams of his youth. Thing here is, neither Zero nor Hiead is having familiar dreams.  
  
Coming up: A training day gets out of hand. What's happening between Zero and Kizna? And why is Hiead paying extra attention to his rival? Stay tuned.  
  
I always welcome feedback, comment, critique, praise, and flames. Drop me a line, tell your friends, and tell your enemies.  
  
As always, thank you, and here's to next time.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa) 


	4. Beyond the Wall of Sleep

Chapter Three: Beyond the Wall of Sleep  
  
Zero lay in his bed, casting a glance around the room. Clay snored, his chest rising, and then falling, in rhythmic counterpoint to the sounds escaping his lips and nostrils. Did he invent something revolutionary, or are half-naked girls peeling grapes and feeding him baklava, again? He might just have stumbled across a new variety of orchids---or not. He's going to wake up refreshed, poised, and ready to discover more 'interesting' things. I'm really getting to hate that. Really, really getting to hate that.   
  
He stared at Hiead, whose back was turned to him. One day I'm going to find out if he really does sleep open-eyed. Hiead's mattress rustled. Zero turned his face away, shutting his eyes. Come on, Enna, calm down. He's probably getting up to take a whiz. Bedsprings creaked; feet padded across the floor, paused, then continued to Zero's bed. Okay. He's come this way again. Don't move.   
  
Ruby eyes fixed on the right hand, just outside the covers. Two nights ago he had a burn across his palm. Not a trace of it now. And since when did burns smell like roses and cinnamon? I still smell it on him.   
  
A memory surfaced: Hiead, in a rented car with his father, stared out the window at the fields stretching out. His father, a black-haired man with steely eyes, glanced at the boy. "You are staying with your Tante Melisande and Nonc' Emile while I'm on Colony Sybaris-Lethe. If they ask you how that bruise got there," he touched a purple mark on Hiead's cheek, "tell them you fell from the monkey bars. Understood?" The six-year-old nodded, saying, "Yes, Papa, I understand."  
  
The car turned, onto a gravel driveway, which led to a two-story wooden house, painted sky-blue, with gabled roofs and a large front porch. A woman in her late 50s, with iron-grey hair and violet eyes, came onto the porch. She wore a red shirt and denim overalls, with yellow gardening clogs on her feet.  
  
Hiead's father stopped the car, and motioned for the little boy to get out. Hiead bolted up the steps, singing, "Tattie Mellie! Tattie Mellie! I'm here!" and threw himself into his great-aunt's embrace. She held the boy, covering his face with kisses.  
  
"Hey, hey," a booming voice rang out, "Is that our petit ange come to visit?" Hiead broke from his Tattie's arms, and stepped over to a sixtyish man in khakis and a faded black shirt. Snowy hair and rose-colored eyes gave the man's carved features a strange, merry look. Emile Broussard smiled. "Come over here, little one, give your old Uncle a kiss."  
  
The front porch vanished, replaced by darkness; Zero tensed, waiting for Hiead to walk away. Hey, Gner, get back to your side of the room. See? Eyes closed, no response to your motions---take the hint, and just go now. He's not leaving. Huh? What's this? He felt Hiead's fingers brush across the right palm.  
  
Hiead perched on the edge of Zero's bed, taking the other boy's hand in his. Soft. He ran his fingers over the palm. No blisters, no scar tissue---not even an altered line. You'd think he'd never gotten burned in the first place. He raised Zero's hand to his face. Sweet, with a lingering spice note. An impulse overtook him, and he pressed his lips to the palm he still held, tracing a spiral with the tip of his tongue. Zero stirred, stifling a cry. Hiead relinquished the youth's hand, staring at the dark hair, and the dark blue eye, cracked open. Playing possum, are we? Fine. Have it your way. But, little mystery, I will solve you. And when I do, I will surpass you. Count on it.   
  
Hiead touched Zero's hair---a gentle touch, almost a caress. After a few minutes, he got up and returned to his bed. Sleep overtook him, setting him adrift.  
  
Zero exhaled, falling asleep. The fragrance of leaf mold and pine drew him to a bluff, which overlooked a city, lights twinkling, as the moon rose, in a crisp, late-autumn sky. A pair of arms wrapped around him; he nestled his head against the man's chin. "Rei," the voice said, "tell me what you see."  
  
Zero smiled. "I see the skyline of a city, a toy-like city, with a pink pearl moon. I see stars above us, and the outline of a river in the distance. And I'm in awe." He paused. "And what do you see, koishii? I'd like to know."  
  
His koishii rocked him, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck. "I see the city, the moon, the stars, and the water. And I see you, itooshii." The voice lowered, humming the melody of a song only they knew.  
  
The skyline dissolved into a blinding frenzy: white bled into his eyes, as faceless hands attached needles to his arms. A constant eep-eep shocked his ears, as the masked figures jotted notes, whispering between themselves. He tried to scream; only a whine escaped his lips. A wave of nausea jolted his body; the meager breakfast he had eaten spattered across the gurney, with its hard mattress. Another set of hands reached over, scalpel in hand. His stomach lurched again.  
  
Zero woke, running to the bathroom, praying he could make it in time. Oh, Mother Kannon, what is the matter with me? Before he could hunch over the toilet, he heard the voice of his silver-haired rival: "So, is Number 88 praying to the great god Ralph?" The door closed, as Hiead walked in, turning on a light.  
  
"Were you dreaming, dear boy, about being in zero gravity again? Or maybe," Hiead cooed, "you lost in a fist fight to me."  
  
Zero said nothing, too occupied with the wrenching pain in his stomach. He retched, heaved, and coughed. Crimson stained the white porcelain, swirling in the water. Hiead noticed the traces, and grabbed a towel.  
  
"Enna," he said, "care to explain to me why you're spitting up blood?" Zero groaned, gasping for breath. "Mother Kali, but you're sweating like a pig. Oh well, I guess I've got to clean you up," Hiead said, wetting the towel. Zero shot him a baleful look. "Did I ask you to help me, Gner?"  
  
Hiead knelt next to him, swabbing the dark-haired boy's neck, face, and forearms. "Suppose you hadn't managed to wake up. Would you have preferred to risk choking on your own sick?" He paused, while Zero's breathing normalized. "Let's get you to the infirmary."  
  
"No," Zero replied. "It'll pass." Hiead shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"Okay. But if you get really sick, don't ask for my help."  
  
"Like I would in the first place." Zero looked up, catching a glint in Hiead's eye. Don't tell me I hit a nerve.   
  
Hiead stepped to the sink, grabbing a cup and filling it with fresh water. "Come on, let's get that taste out of your mouth." He tapped Zero on the shoulder. "Now, Enna."  
  
Zero got up, and recognized the tang in his mouth, sour and metallic. He took the cup from Hiead, rinsed, then grabbed a toothbrush. After the brushing, he rinsed again.  
  
"What was that about?" Hiead wanted to know.  
  
"What was what about?" And since when did you give a flying?   
  
"Going to sleep, waking up violently sick, stuff like that."  
  
"Why?" You had better have a convincing reason for asking.   
  
"Why not?" Believe me, Zero, I've got plenty of reasons to ask.   
  
"I don't care if you have plenty of reasons. One will do."  
  
"Okay. Training would be a crashing bore. No obnoxious outbursts, no chance to see Azuma rake your ass over the grater, nobody who matches me, skill for skill."  
  
Zero tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a bit. Oh, really? "Well thanks, I think."  
  
Hiead chuckled. "Can't have you getting too confident now." He took Zero by the hand, and led him back to his bed. "Now get some sleep."  
  
Zero lay down, pulling the covers over his shoulders. Hiead walked to his own bed, curling onto his side, as fatigue drew him in again.  
  
Hiead dreamed: the sound of rain pattered on the roof of the bungalow. The aroma of café au lait wafted, from the kitchen, to the bedroom, where he sat, wearing wine-colored, silk pajama bottoms. Guitar chords drifted through his house. Someone was in the mood for Django Reinhardt. Feet padded toward the bedroom: his companion carried in a tray, with breakfast and two cups of coffee.  
  
"Hey, gorgeous," his obscure companion said. "Did the angels keep you company while we slept?"  
  
Hiead laughed. "Well, one angel stayed with me last night." Hands the color of toasted almonds set the tray on the bed. Dark hair swayed a little, as the same hands cut a piece of cinnamon raisin French toast, dunked it in cane syrup, and directed the fork to Hiead's mouth.  
  
He leaned in, taking a bite. Syrup dribbled down his chin, onto his neck and collarbone. "Are you trying to make a mess of me?"  
  
"Do you object?"  
  
"Not really, itooshii." Hiead took the fork, cut another piece of French toast, and added a little bacon. "Are you hungry, love?" he asked, angling the fork to meet his lover's lips.  
  
"Oh, my, yes," he murmured, as Hiead fed him. "I'd go so far," he said, taking a strawberry from a bowl and swirling it in whipped cream, "as to say, I'm famished. And you, koishii, are you hungry?" He teased Hiead with the berry, before pressing closer, smearing the silver-haired man's face with cream.  
  
Hiead gave his love a wicked grin, as he ate the strawberry, and rolled a strawberry in sugar and black pepper. "I'm ravenous." He leaned in, touching his lover's lips with the fruit. "Try a taste?"  
  
His love bit into the strawberry, eyes locked onto Hiead, as he chewed and swallowed. Hiead dipped the bitten end in more sugar and pepper, then finished the berry. A warm tongue cleaned away traces of cream, then dipped down, tasting syrup.  
  
The rain faded---as did the room---into a wheat field, where a small boy had run for shelter. Dirt streaked his face; his shirt and trousers hung from his limbs, torn and scuffed. The boy hugged his knees, sobbing, and praying that his pursuers would miss him. Footsteps crackled through the stalks; the child began running through the fields, once more.  
  
The boy reached a riverbank, lined with cowslip and poppies, and fell to the ground. He buried his face in the damp earth, lungs aflame. He felt his heart race, as he cried.  
  
Hiead woke, limbs heavy and aching. Ugh. What the hell's going on here? He looked across the room at Zero, who lay in his bed. And why is this happening?   
  
Zero sat up, eyes locked on Hiead's. "Speak your peace, Gner, and move on."  
  
Ruby eyes flashed fire. "You have not been yourself for quite some time. Explain."  
  
Blue eyes returned a steely stare. "Don't hold your breath. Besides, if you ask me what's been going on, I'll ask the same. Now if you'll excuse me---" He got out of bed, moving past Clay, who stretched and yawned in his bed. Before he could head into the bathroom, he felt a hand on his wrist.  
  
"Suppose I said I'd answer your questions?" Hiead whispered.  
  
"Like you want anyone in your head," Zero replied. "Not bloody likely, sunshine."  
  
Hiead relinquished the grip. "If you change your mind, let me know."  
  
"Sure." When hell freezes over.   
  
I think it's halfway there.   
  
"Hiead, did you say something?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Zero gave Hiead a puzzled look. "Maybe I will take up your offer. Just not today."  
  
He walked into the bathroom, closing the door.  
  
"Another day, and the two of you start in again," Clay said.  
  
Hiead shot him a glare, and got dressed.  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Thank you so much for the response to "Entertaining Angels." It's only the beginning, I promise. KLMeri: I agree. But there is more to this than fear. D-chan: thank you, bella. Glad you like the direction of the story. Let me know what you think. UE: well, there are definitely a lot of side stories here. Shinigamifemme: thank you for the feedback. I will definitely write more.  
  
Coming up: a training day gone awry. Zero's journal, Hiead's journal, and a few surprises.  
  
I welcome all feedback, comments, praise, critique, and flames. They mean a lot.  
  
Again, thank you so much!  
  
Antoinette (poetisa)  
  
P.S. Go read Authoress K.C.'s story, "Rioroute Vilgyna Belongs to Me." Interesting to see what happens after Hiead claims Zero.read! Review! And demand a sequel! 


	5. I want to tell you: I feel hung up, and ...

Chapter Four: "I want to tell you: I feel hung up, and I don't know why."  
  
Zero ran.  
  
Out of the classroom, past the gym, down to the Library/Media Center.  
  
Sweat poured down his face; scrape marks and cuts throbbed, still raw from a fight.  
  
Instructor Azuma had come in that day, in his usual athletic gear, pince- nez spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He stared at the class, then announced: "Candidates, we are foregoing our Pro-Ing training today, and we will instead watch a documentary on the Battle of 'Lost Property.'" He ran a hand through his hair, ash-brown with grey streaks, and stared hard at Zero. "If anyone here decides to take a nap during the presentation, there will be serious consequences."  
  
A snort went up behind Zero. "Candidate 87! That applies to you as well!"  
  
The film lived down to Zero's worst expectations: a dry, rote work, smacking more of propaganda than documentary. He had to pinch himself at the most boring parts. What a patronizing load of crap this is. History? Only if you squint and tilt your head to the side.   
  
When the lights went up, Azuma stood in front of the class, his eyes boring through Zero. "Would anyone here care to tell me their thoughts on this presentation?"  
  
Clay raised his hand, digipad at the ready. "Candidate 89, please let one of your classmates speak up. Candidate 88! What are your comments on our documentary?"  
  
Zero stood, giving the instructor a look of pure disgust. "I have no comment, Sir. May I be seated?"  
  
"Candidate, you have not answered my question. You may not sit down until you have given me a direct reply."  
  
Zero squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath. If you insist, sir, but you're not going to like what I have to say. "Very well. The documentary---and I use the term in the loosest sense possible---was poorly put together, with little to no connection between what was on the screen and the events as they took place."  
  
He watched Azuma's jaw, as it clenched.  
  
A collective gasp rippled through the room.  
  
Zero continued: "Furthermore, the film played on the hackneyed theme of "GOA good, VICTIM bad," in a condescending way. A three-year-old child would be insulted. I am not trying to downplay the ongoing struggle for Zion, Sir, but most of us are here because we want to be, not because of this recruitment piece you're attempting to fob off as a documentary. May I now be seated, Sir?"  
  
Azuma walked toward the dark-haired Candidate, grabbing him by the lapels of his uniform. "Ten points for insubordination, 88."  
  
"Is that all, Sir, or do you intend to keep spitting on me?" Zero asked, keeping a steady gaze on the instructor, whose face turned purple.  
  
"You will spend the next three days in Cuerval, without your Repairer. You will also write, for me, a 15-page essay on the Battle of Lost Property, with endnotes and a bibliography. And if you persist in this belligerence toward me, you will find yourself in the Isolation Wing, do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Exceptionally so, Sir," Zero replied, in a calm tone.  
  
Azuma shoved the Candidate toward his seat. "I do not want to hear from you for the rest of the day. Candidate 89! Your comments on this film."  
  
Clay spoke up; Zero stared ahead, tuning out the patter.  
  
"Class dismissed." The Candidates began filing out. "Candidates 87 and 88, you stay."  
  
Hiead shot Zero a venomous glance.  
  
"Take out paper and pen, ladies. Pop quiz."  
  
Both Candidates groaned, and sat down, while Azuma fired off questions. Ten minutes later, he left the room. Zero was ready to rise from his seat, when he felt a fist connect with his cheek. Lurching forward, he tumbled onto the floor, and scrambled to his feet.  
  
"And what the fuck was that for?!" Zero yelled.  
  
"Since when did you grow a brain?" Hiead said. "You had to bollix the class for me, didn't you, with your hot air? Stick to flossing your toes, and leave the brainiac stuff to Fortran. At least he has something other than lint between his ears." Ruby-red eyes flashed with spite.  
  
Zero lunged at Hiead, hands wrapping around the other boy's neck. The two fell to the floor, struggling and clawing. "Hypocrite! You're dying 'cos I said what you didn't have the cojones to say. Don't give me that goody- goody, diligent student crap. You were itching to slug Azuma when he announced that we didn't have practice."  
  
"You do not presume to tell me what's in my head, Enna." Hiead landed an elbow in Zero's ribs.  
  
"What's in your head, Gner, that's so bloody precious? 'I hate you and everyone else in the universe, so out of my way before I rip out your spleen'? Your attitude puts me to sleep these days." Zero punched Hiead in the solar plexus. "And as for the 'brain dead Enna' tosh, I'd be happy to show you where to stick it."  
  
Hiead spat in Zero's face. "You mean the way you country boys stick it to the sheep?"  
  
Zero flew up, taking a stance. "Leave my home colony out of this."  
  
Hiead got up, walking away. "You should have stayed in the boonies."  
  
"And you," Zero called out, "should never have been born." His hands flew, in shock, over his mouth. Oh my lord, what did I just say? What possessed me to say that? Well, Enna, make these final moments count.   
  
Hiead paused, looking at his rival. He walked over, lowered Zero's hands, and brought his face closer. Anger warred with something else in his eyes. Mercy, are those tears?   
  
"Enna," he whispered, "tell me you didn't mean that." Though if you say you didn't mean it at all, I can spit you as a liar.   
  
"For a moment, I did," Zero replied, "and the moment passed. And I don't know if I can take that back."  
  
Hiead trembled. "Think you hurt me? Don't flatter yourself. You just landed another blow on the bruise." He laughed, a short, bitter sound. "But save your apologies for later. For now, I suggest you keep your distance."  
  
He turned away, and left the room.  
  
Zero bolted through the Library's double doors. Clay sat in a carrel, poring over a reproduction of a book of works by Matisse. He got up, intercepting the dark-haired boy. Caramel eyes scanned Zero, through large eyeglasses.  
  
"Care to tell me," Clay asked, "what that little outburst in class was about?"  
  
"No. No, Clay, I would rather not tell you. So kindly drop the subject." Zero's eyes glittered, turning frosty. Keep pressing, and you'll get more than you want.   
  
"I will not drop it," Clay replied. "You've changed. I don't know what happened after you encountered VICTIM, but you are not the same. What happened---are you channeling Hiead or something?"  
  
Zero's voice tightened. "Clay, I'm telling you, I do not want to talk. Leave it be."  
  
"It's bad enough to bunk with one mental case. I refuse to watch you become prime Borstal material. Come on, I'm not dense. You barely communicate with Kizna; you spend less time hanging out; and you don't want anyone near you. I don't understand why you've gotten so distant. You're not the sullen, brooding kind."  
  
Zero shook his head, and fixed his gaze on Clay. "So what am I, then? A ditz? A nimrod? Am I here for everyone's amusement? Maybe I'm Azuma's whipping boy. Or Rill's lab rat, what with the times I've wound up in the infirmary. Do you know, do you even care, what I think?"  
  
"Of course I do."  
  
"Then trust me on this, and back away. I'll talk when I'm ready, not before. Got that?"  
  
Clay gave him a hurt look. "Yes. But don't take forever."  
  
"See you later." Zero walked away, heading to the Media Center, where he found a free computer terminal. He logged in: enna88@goasys.org and checked his email. A message from cocteau@gis.org flashed on the screen. He opened the note, which read:  
  
~Rei, how are you? What's going on?  
  
~I miss you greatly. Hugging a pillow isn't the same as holding you, koibito.  
  
~How is the training coming along? What about the lectures? Is the sludge as dreadful as I remember, or has someone managed to rescue the food from the cooks?  
  
~Life at GIS is all right, I guess. Yu and Kazuhi are quiet, but they try to be gracious. Tune is a wonderful repairer; she keeps Reneighd Klein in prime condition. I think she still gets a bit sad when she thinks about Ernest. Leena is the den mother here: she's always looking out for everyone. Phil has her hands full, what with Rio and his antics!  
  
~As for Garu, well, I don't know what to say. And Teela---perhaps you can tell me about her.  
  
~How about you, Chestnut? Are you all right? The last letter I got from you seemed a little---well, terse. I know I'm not in the same room with you, but I feel you, and I know that you're going through something. You can tell me, if you like. You don't have to say everything, but I really do want to know if I can ease your mind, somehow.  
  
~Know that you are always in my thoughts, Rei. May the Goddesses protect you.  
  
~All love, Erts. ~  
  
Zero sat back, then hit the Reply button.  
  
~To: cocteau@gis.org  
  
~From: enna88@goasys.org  
  
~Reply-to: (none)  
  
~Copy: (none)  
  
~Subject: Blue period, black comedy  
  
~Dear Erts,  
  
~thank you so much for the email. Hope that things are all right at GIS.  
  
~Truth be told, I've wanted to talk with you for some time now. Guess that now is as good a time as any. If anything I say sounds kind of jumbled up, well, it's 'cos I don't understand a lot of what's happening either. Please bear with me, koibito.  
  
~I've been having strange, strange dreams of late. Yes, you know about the dreams I've had of my old home. But these dreams are sad and violent. I know they aren't mine---I mean, the places, the people, and the face in the mirror all belong to someone else. Frightening thing is, when I wake up, there are scars, bruises, cuts, and the like. I've even had burn marks on me, Erts, and I have not clue one as to how these things are happening.  
  
~Last week, I had a nightmare where I was in a testing facility---some anonymous building in a district with abandoned slaughterhouses---and I had more punctures in me than any junkie. I barely managed to wake up, and get to the toilet. I was heaving blood; can you believe it? To make the whole incident weirder, Hiead walked in on me, and cleaned me up. You heard right. Mr. Beautiful-but-Homicidal himself, walked in, and after trading insults, took a towel to clean my face, and waited for me to rinse the blood and bile from my mouth. Said he'd be bored if I'd choked on my sick.  
  
~But what's happening with Hiead, that's another story.  
  
~I can imagine sitting with Rill herself. She'd probably tell me it was some sort of hysteria, and that I need a stint at a Borstal. Clay thinks I'm halfway mad; Azuma tells me I'm belligerent; Kizna thinks I'm being a jerk for all seasons. But tell me, is it madness to not want others treating me like an airhead? How long am I supposed to suck up all the insults, all the backhanded remarks, and do it with a fake smile?  
  
~Sometimes I think that it might be better to just plaster on the happy face, laugh with others when I rip my pants, and let them think me a carefree, headstrong yahoo. Give the people what they want, shove the rest into a little closet. But I am so tired of doing that. So utterly fed up. And yet, when I do want to show anyone what is really going on, I'm called sullen and withdrawn, and asked why I have such a rotten attitude. So basically, I'm screwed if I play the happy idiot, and screwed if I decide not to play the fool.  
  
~I'm not trying to make you sad or anything. These last few months have been really hard, and I want someone that will listen. Nobody else knows me well as you do. And I'm sorry if I've been short with you. There's just so much going on. If you were here, I'd probably cry on your shoulder for at least a good hour. And I'd gladly let you kiss my tears away. But you're there, and I'm here, so I have to figure out how to unburden without causing bodily harm, to others or to myself. Any suggestions?  
  
~Another thing about the dreams: as I said, the face in the mirror isn't mine. And at first the features were sort of blurry. But they're beginning to come into focus now. I don't know if it's projection or possession---these dreams of a hellish past---but when I pass a mirror, I see Hiead's face. To make things even more surreal, I've started having dreams where I am me, but older, and with someone. The voice is familiar, though I have yet to place the face.  
  
~And here's the real strange part: I think Hiead may be experiencing something similar. I haven't had the nerve to ask, but I get the feeling that he's been dreaming too. Where is he, and whose face does he see, when he sleeps? And who's there with him, if he's dreaming of years to come?  
  
~There have also been times when, I swear, I can tap into Gner's thoughts. I've caught bits and pieces, particularly after we've had a fight or an argument.  
  
~Do forgive me! I've been going on and on for some time now. Thanks for your patience, for listening. Can't wait to hear from you. I'd really like to plant kisses all over you, to hear you sigh and watch you smile. But till then, I guess I'll content myself with kissing your picture and hugging my pillow. Be well, Erts.  
  
~Your devoted fool, Rei. ~  
  
Zero hit the Send button, and returned to the Inbox. He scrolled past other messages, and then logged out, walking to the Observation Deck. Mother Kannon, please, don't let me run into anyone I know.   
  
Once there, Zero found a niche, and sat down, looking at the sky. Stars, constellations, and moons moved past his view. A blue-green planet gleamed in the distance: Zion, the one planet known to be safe for human life.  
  
What was it like before we came there? Who lived there before us? And do they still? How do the dwellers see us from below? Do they smile, or shiver when they see the lights from GOA? And what happens if we can't secure the planet? Supposing we can, though---what will happen then? And what will life be like, if we do defeat VICTIM?   
  
He put his hands behind his head, and leaned back, falling into a doze.  
  
Zero woke from his nap, to the sound of a voice, singing:  
  
"Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me. Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me. So use it, and prove it; remove this whirling sadness. I'm losing, I'm bluesing, but you can save me from madness."  
  
Who is that?   
  
"Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me. Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile, and you use it only for me. So save me, I'm waiting; I'm needing, hear me pleading. And soothe me, improve me; I'm grieving, I'm barely believing now---now."  
  
The voice rose, almost imploring: "When you are flying around and around the world, and I'm lying a-lonely, I know there's something sacred and free, reserved and received by me only."  
  
Zero crept toward the sound, on hands and knees, trying not to alert the singer to his presence. He came up on a willowy silhouette, silver in the pale moonlight. "Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile. Nobody knows it, but you've got a secret smile. Nobody knows it, nobody knows it, nobody knows it, but you've got a secret. Nobody knows it, nobody knows it, nobody knows it, but you've got a secret."  
  
Zero crept out, unnoticed by the boy who stared at the moon, whose voice dropped to a whisper. Ruby-red eyes slipped open, and a sob tore his throat.  
  
Hiead Gner sighed, steeling himself for the return to his roommates. Ready to resume the role? Prepare the face, and mind the lines.   
  
After a last look at the night sky, he left the Observation Deck, trudging through the corridor.  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Hello all, and how are you? Hope everyone's Labor Day was good.  
  
D-chan: yes indeed, count on a bit of how these dreams have been affecting Zero. And as for the telepathic aspect, I think it safe to say they can read each other, but only a little, and mostly when emotions run real high. But look for that to change. UE: tovarishch, thank you so much for the feedback. It's tricky to balance the tensions between these two. But I hope to do my best. AnimeCat: thank you for the five-star rating. I hope to bring out more quality material.  
  
Music notes: the title is a line taken from the Beatles' "I Want to Tell You," written by George Harrison, and (if memory serves) licensed through his estate. The song which Zero overhears is "Secret Smile," which is off Semisonic's album, Feeling Strangely Fine.  
  
Coming Soon: a few good journal entries. Erts replies to Zero: what does he have to say? And what has Kizna been writing in her journal? Stay tuned.  
  
I welcome comments, critique, feedback, praise, and flames. Drop me a line! And as always, thank you ever, ever so. Antoinette (poetisa)  
  
P.S. Check out the Vision of Resuko (www.satinflame.net/resuko) for lots of really cool fanart, oekaki, and the like. She has some of the neatest stuff---and when you're done there, take a tour through the EX Files. The banners alone are worth the trip. And for the CCS fans, she has two sites: Suki to Itte and One Who Dreams Alone. Tell your friends. 


	6. The Midnight Breakfast Society

Chapter Five: The Midnight Breakfast Society  
  
The clocks at GOA read the same time: fifteen minutes before midnight.  
  
Silence reigned in the Candidates' quarters.  
  
Roose Sawamura stole a quick glance at his roommate, Yamagi Kushida, before drifting off to sleep. Chibi-chan, what would you do if I kissed you good morning?   
  
Yamagi stirred, dreaming that he had landed at a beach party, wearing lederhosen and toting an accordion. "Hey, I don't know the polka version of 'Pacific Coast Party'," he shouted, as a crowd of surf punks clamored for music. "And no, I have no freaking idea who Carlos Gardel is!"  
  
Clay Cliff Fortran lay in his bed, dozing. While preparing a cup of tea, the idea for a portable inter-dimensional portal popped into his mind; within two hours' time, he had fashioned a prototype using a heating coil, copper tubing, and duct tape. Now if I could only find someone to give this a test drive. He saw Zero stumble past, and grinned. Sucker.   
  
Hiead stole a glance across the room at Zero's bed. His rival tossed and turned, mumbling snatches of words. The boy's dark hair obscured his eyes; one arm hung over the side of the bed, and a leg kicked away the covers. Hiead rose from his bed, padding toward Zero. He knelt near the sleeper, watching him sway. Look at this brat. He's energy incarnate---but let him sleep, and he's a scared child. He made his way back to his own bed, and dropped into a light sleep.  
  
The rustle of bedclothes roused him; he turned to face Zero's bed, empty and disheveled. Guess he's gone to drain the lizard.   
  
Minutes passed; Hiead got out of bed, and walked to the bathroom. Just make sure he hasn't done something stupid. That's all. He opened the door, turning on a light---the bathroom was empty. Oh, great. He must have started sleepwalking. Okay, let's get him back here in one piece. He turned off the bathroom lights, shut the door, and headed into the corridors.  
  
Enna, where are you? He heard a faint sound, and began following it. The kitchens? But how could he get in there, and without attracting notice?   
  
Hiead noticed the air getting warmer, rich with the scents of bacon, sugar, and pepper. Somebody decided to whip up a snack, eh? He crept into the kitchen, following the scent of toast and scrambled eggs.  
  
Zero stood at the galley stove, adding grated cheese to a pan. A plate of bacon, crisp from the oven, sat at his left. Another plate, of raisin bread toast, waited next to a conveyor-belt toaster.  
  
He walked to the refrigerator, pulling out a liter of milk, and pouring it into a small saucepan. A kettle whistled on a back burner. He placed the saucepan on a burner, and adjusted the heat, before turning to the kettle.  
  
Hiead watched, mesmerized, as the dark-haired boy stirred hot water into a bowl with cocoa, sugar, and a little salt. After adding a little milk, he poured the mixture into the saucepan, then returned his attention to the eggs, which he removed from the burner. After placing them on a plate, he set the plate in the oven, and began to sing.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, here is my disease, give me your standing ovation and your sympathy. Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again. See the Jean Genie and his high wire act; at the back of his mind lies a suicide pact. Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again."  
  
Zero began to sway and move; his voice rose. "See the young men itching to burn, waiting for their own star turn, needing danger---a war will do---if they can't let it out they'll pick on you! Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again, on fire again! Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again."  
  
Damn, where's a camera when you need one? This is priceless! I couldn't dream of better blackmail material---oh well, another time. Where and when did he learn how to cook?   
  
"See Houdini and his underwater tricks; you were sitting at the front hoping his locks would stick. Watch Knievel hit the seventeenth bus. You got crushed in the souvenir rush. Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again. I said, poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again! See the young men itching to burn, waiting for their own star turn, needing danger-- -a war will do---if they can't let it out they'll pick on you! Poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again, on fire again! I said, poor old Johnny Yen set himself on fire again!"  
  
Zero stirred the saucepan, testing the hot chocolate. "Ladies and gentlemen, here is my disease. Give me your standing ovation, and your--- sympathy." Did you ever have the feeling you were being watched? That the eyes of a beautiful, sociopathic boy were following your every move? Hey, if he wants chow, he needs to speak up.   
  
"Gner, if you're hungry, better say something."  
  
Hiead started a moment, but walked over. "Enna, why are you here?"  
  
"I wanted breakfast. Why are you here?"  
  
Hiead gave him a long look, snorting at the question.  
  
"Okay, Mystery Man," Zero said, "I won't press for an answer. Would you like something to eat?"  
  
"Sure. Not that I'm really starving or anything."  
  
"Well, grab a plate, anyway, and dig in. I will require your help with the dishes."  
  
Hiead took a plate, and waited. Zero retrieved the eggs from the oven, spooning half the contents of the skillet into Hiead's plate. He added bacon and toast, and then served himself. He then set his plate down, and poured hot chocolate into two mugs. "Look, I'm not here to poison you. Leave that job to the cooks."  
  
"And do you want me to use my hands?"  
  
"Sorry," Zero replied. "Just a minute." He found two forks and sat down.  
  
Hiead watched as the boy bowed his head, pausing, before he dug in. He picked up the fork, and took a bite. Wow. Delicious! Eggs that aren't rubbery, cheese that doesn't taste like vinyl---not too soggy, not dried out. He bit into a bacon strip. Not a bit greasy, and just the right crispness.   
  
"So, what d'you think?"  
  
"It's all right." Are you kidding? I haven't had a meal like this in ages! Not since the summers I was lucky enough to go to L'Aubade. He blushed, thankful for the dim lights in the kitchen. I miss you, Tattie Mellie.   
  
A memory surfaced: sitting in a whitewashed kitchen, at a table laden with homemade bread, butter, apricot preserves, eggs, ham, and fresh figs. The six-year-old waited for his great-aunt to sit down, after preparing two cups of café au lait, and one cup with hot milk and the barest whisper of coffee.  
  
Hiead's legs dangled from a wooden chair; he snuck a look at Nonc' Emile, who grinned, mussing the boy's hair. "Now angel, you know you're not ready for what we drink. You want to go to first grade with a big ol' hairy chest?" He laughed, the creases in his face rippling with mirth.  
  
"What are you thinking about, Hiead?" Zero asked, removing the plates and bringing up the toast. "Give this a taste."  
  
Hiead bit into the toast. Cinnamon, sugar, butter---and what else is here?   
  
"Cardamom, ginger, and a little black pepper for kick," Zero replied. "The secret to raisin and spice toast. If I could have found it, I'd have ground some star anise into the sugar blend. But I think it came out okay."  
  
"It's not repulsive." No, it's brilliant! You might have missed your calling, Enna.   
  
"Well, I guess I'll take that as a compliment." What aren't you telling me, Gner?   
  
The two ate toast, and sipped at the hot chocolate, in silence. "Zero," Hiead wanted to know, "where did you learn how to cook?"  
  
Should I consider that an on-the-level question?   
  
"I'm not trying to bait you here. I'd like to know."  
  
"If you must know," Zero replied, "my mother taught me how to cook as a boy. I kept a vegetable garden, and used to catch fish. We had a few chickens, too---kept them mostly for the eggs. We'd have things like beef, or chocolate, on special occasions. I didn't have my first taste of ice cream till I was in school. Money wasn't exactly easy to come by in our household."  
  
"So why this? Why tonight?"  
  
"I wanted something that wasn't swill." And can you tell me, Hiead, that you honestly enjoy swill?   
  
"I see."  
  
"Said the blind man," Zero chuckled.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Some old Earth saying or other." He shrugged, then got up. "Now it's your turn to help out. You want to wash, or dry?"  
  
"I'll dry. Throw me a dishtowel." He caught a towel, and made his way to the sink. It's got to be the end of the world here. We haven't thrown a punch or a kick. I must be losing my edge here.   
  
"Hey, don't sell yourself that short. You know we'll end up trying to massacre each other come daybreak."  
  
"Did I say anything to you, Enna?"  
  
"Whoa there, tiger. Take a chill pill. We're here in the kitchen, doing dishes, and so far, we're not engaged in open hostility. Whether you interpret that as a sign of maturity, or one of the signposts for Armageddon---it's something, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"Yeah, whatever," Hiead said, eyes half-open, a blasé look on his face. I refuse to let you under my skin.   
  
Zero gave him a sidelong glance, a half-smile on his lips. Oh, Hiead, ye of little perception! Who are you trying to convince here---me, or you?   
  
Hiead noticed the glance, and, for a moment, froze. What the hell?   
  
"Look," Zero said, "I want to make a proposal here."  
  
"What are you proposing?"  
  
"Look, you've been itching to know what's been deviling me. And I remember that little offer you made a while back. Does it still stand?"  
  
"What offer?"  
  
"You already forgot? I tell you about me, and you tell me about you. If you've changed your mind, that's all right. I'm not here to play Spanish Inquisition, and I won't stand for any arm-twisting. I was thinking that we could find some sort of neutral ground. Some place where we can defuse."  
  
"You mean, like here."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I guess this place would do." Hiead paused. "Around this time?"  
  
Zero poured dish soap into a basin, and began scrubbing. "I think so." He rinsed plates, placing them in a rack. "I was thinking, maybe once a month, to start?"  
  
"I suppose." Hiead began drying. "Anything else?"  
  
"I was thinking that we might play a game. Something to sort of break the ice."  
  
"What were you thinking?"  
  
"Truth or Dare." Is this going to fly, or not?   
  
You're sticking your neck out here, Enna. Hiead smirked. "Very well. I agree."  
  
"How do we seal this?"  
  
Hiead picked up paring knife, pricking the index finger on his right hand. "I propose a blood vow." He handed the knife to Zero. "Your turn."  
  
Zero took a deep breath, and pricked his finger. Hiead placed his finger on Zero's lips, and waited for his rival to do likewise. He then slipped the boy's finger into his mouth, taking in the droplets.  
  
Zero took Hiead's finger and licked away the blood at the tip. If this is how you come to trust me---so be it.   
  
Hiead stepped back, eyes widening. He didn't flinch. Silence crackled. "Let's finish up here," Zero said, washing the knife and drying it. "I suggest that one of us go now."  
  
"You go first," Hiead answered. "I'll take a roundabout path and get back to the room after you."  
  
"This ends the first meeting of the Midnight Breakfast Society, I guess." Zero made his way to the door, and turned around. "Before I forget---muito obrigado, garotinho, para o prazer de participar de pequno almoço comigo."  
  
Hiead nodded, as Zero left the kitchen. Wait, was that Portuguese? Guess he wasn't joking about picking up a new language.   
  
He waited for roughly five minutes, and then made his way back to their room.  
  
Clay was still snoring, a catlike grin on his face. Some new mischief, I'll wager. Zero lay in his bed, eyes slipping shut.  
  
Hiead walked over to the bed, tapping the dark-haired boy on the shoulder. "One last thing, my mystery boy," he whispered, as Zero opened his eyes. "And then we can say we've finally sealed our pact."  
  
Before Zero could respond, Hiead pressed lips with his, in a chaste, brief gesture. "Remember: what you tell me will never pass my lips. And I trust that yours will not repeat what I tell you. Goodnight, Zero Enna."  
  
Zero caught his hand, squeezing it. "Sleep with the angels, Hiead."  
  
I doubt I ever will. But I appreciate the thought.   
  
Hiead returned to his bed, and lay there, drifting to sleep as he watched Zero.  
  
Author's notes  
  
Greetings and salutations, y'all. How is everyone? Thank you so much for reading and for reviewing. Means a great deal to me.  
  
Tri: hello, and welcome! Here's a bit more---hope it whets the appetite.  
  
Anime Cat: So many stars? I'm honored. Do let me know what you make of this chapter.  
  
UE: tovarishch, there are many sides to Zero, and also to Hiead. I hope to bring them to light. As always, you give me definite food for thought.  
  
D-chan: where are you, bella? Hope everything's okay.  
  
Language notes: Aubade is French, and has to do with dawn. (I promise, I'll look it up for a more exact definition. What Zero says to Hiead before he leaves the kitchens is Portuguese, and it means "Thank you very much, little boy, for the pleasure of sharing breakfast with me."  
  
Music notes: The song that Zero sings in the kitchen is "Johnny Yen," performed by the British group James, off their album Stutter. Tim Booth, I believe, takes the credits for that.  
  
Coming soon: Hiead and Zero write more in their respective journals. We get a peek into Kizna's journal: what has she been thinking lately, and why does Ikhny cross her mind? Erts replies to Zero. And what is there behind this "midnight breakfast" arrangement? Stay tuned.  
  
As always, I welcome comments, critique, feedback, praise, and flames.  
  
Thank you for reading, and I look forward to bringing y'all more.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa) 


	7. Hiead Gner's Journal, Part Two

Chapter Six: Hiead Gner's Journal, Part Two.  
  
Sometime between four and seven in the evening, Hiead left his room, and went off to the Library/Media Center.  
  
He moved through the double doors, pausing at a carrel door. Zero sat at a desk, poring over a textbook. My, my, but he is determined. Hiead gave a half-smile, and left before the dark-haired boy could sense his presence.  
  
He reached the Media Center, picking out a number of discs, before sitting in a listening room. Hiead placed a disc in the player, adjusting the volume, bass, and treble controls. Once he slipped on the headphones, he retrieved his journal and a pen, and then began to write.  
  
~Tuesday, 13 October 4209~  
  
~Today, during our training session, Zero and I got into a fight. Nothing too strange---we mix it up just about every waking hour.  
  
~Something different about today's knock-down-drag-out: at one point, I landed an uppercut to his mouth. Not long after he started bleeding, so did I.  
  
~Had Enna landed a punch to the face, then that would have made sense. Thing is, he didn't. I did notice, after he had dealt me a blow to the solar plexus, that he winced, almost as if he had sustained the impact.  
  
~Azuma sent us to the infirmary, and gave us detention. We have to spend the next three days running the Hamster Wheel, and he's added an extra treat: we spend a week busing tables in the Cafeteria. Oh, joy. Bad enough we have to murder our taste buds on that swill---having to handle trays and plates with congealed mystery meat, condiments, and the rubbery stuff they call flan is a nightmare.  
  
~I have a new theory concerning the cooks here: in order to work in the food service, you have to be good at burning water. Demonstrate even the smallest hint of food sense---you won't make the cut. That leaves the Midnight Breakfast Society out of the running.  
  
~Which brings me to the question: what am I getting into here? This whole business of meeting Zero, in the kitchens, to talk and eat---why have I agreed to it? And with Enna, no less!  
  
~I tell myself this is a mere whim. I am gathering information, and that is all there is to the matter. I have to know what makes my one rival tick: what are his dreams, his desires, his deepest fears? Once I know, I can shed this civil façade and focus on besting Zero---I can, can't I?  
  
~But if that's not the be-all and end-all of the venture, then what is the point? We are hardly what you would call the best of friends. That describes the bond between Enna and Fortran. Even his relationship with Towryk is more cordial---although he seems to have distanced himself somewhat. And though Kushida fancies himself as Zero's rival, there's no comparison.  
  
~I know only one person that Enna trusts, without any reservation: Pilot Erts Virny Cocteau. I recall how Enna approached the blond boy---not with a salute, but a handshake.  
  
~Forget the breach of protocol. He reached out to a Senior Candidate with great ease. As he would to a brother. As he would to a friend.  
  
~And Cocteau responded to that openness, drank it in. You'd think he was a wanderer in some desert, who'd just found a well, overflowing with clean, cool water. Here was a boy who wasn't scared of touching him---or of being touched.  
  
~Erts, of course, fell straightway in love with the country boy. And wonder of wonders, Zero began falling for the golden one. I saw them once, holding hands. Have the two kissed? I'm pretty sure they have.  
  
~Oh, why am I fixating on something so irrelevant?  
  
~I think I will never understand.  
  
~But I would like to try, and maybe that is why I've agreed to meet with Zero every month.  
  
~I suppose we could have sealed this agreement as gentlemen once did on Earth---with a handshake. Or, as in later times, with a written contract and some sort of legal recourse.  
  
~But we sealed our arrangement, and the terms of it, with blood, and with a kiss. I half-expected him to faint, or perhaps to fight me, when I proposed a blood vow. No, he followed my lead, and didn't once flinch at the prospect of taking the blood from my finger.  
  
~And the matter of a kiss: I can't forget the wonder in his eyes when I pressed my lips to his. Truth be told, I think I surprised myself. To do something so intimate with one's fiercest rival defies logic and sense. ~  
  
Hiead put down his pen, concentrating on the music flowing through the headphones. He began to sing: "If a fiddler played you a song, my love, and if I gave you a wheel, would you spin for my heart and loneliness? Would you spin for my love?"  
  
What does he whisper to Cocteau?   
  
"If I gave up all of my pride for you, and only loved you for now, would you hide my fears and never say, 'Tomorrow I must go'? Everywhere, there's rain, my love, everywhere, there's fear."  
  
What does the little Pilot tell him?   
  
"If you tell me a lie, I'll cry for you; tell me of sin, and I'll laugh. If you tell me of all the pain you have, I'll never smile again. Everywhere there's rain, my love. Everywhere there's fear."  
  
And why do I want to scream, when I think of them lying in each other's arms? Zero is my rival! My competition! What the hell does it matter if he's happy with Erts?   
  
"I can plainly see that our parts have changed; our sands are shifting around. Need I beg to you for one more day, to find our lonely love?"  
  
Hiead picked up the journal, and stared at the handwriting. A sigh escaped his lips, as he finished the song: "Everywhere, there's rain, my love. Everywhere, there's fear."  
  
He removed the headphones, turning off the disc player.  
  
He picked up the pen, and resumed writing.  
  
~What was my mother like?  
  
~Tante Melisande had a picture on the vanity table, in the bedroom she shared with my uncle: a girl with long hair, and deep eyes, wearing a navy blue school uniform.  
  
~I saw it when I was little, on the blessed occasions when the old man decided I was too horrid for words, and left me in the country. Once, Tattie Mellie caught me looking at the picture, and took it from me. She did it with a gentle hand, setting it in place. "Tattie," I asked, "who was that pretty girl? And why was she so sad?"  
  
~Tattie looked at me, saying, "Mon ange, that was my sister's granddaughter, Emilie. She came to live here when she was five, after her mother and father died in a car crash. A lovelier little girl, there never was." Her voice dropped a bit. "Your uncle and I didn't have any children, and my sister, your Tante Josette, was in hospital. So Emilie came to live with us. We took that picture, on her first day at Stellamarine Secondary."  
  
~I kept staring at the photo. "Was she smart, Tattie?"  
  
~My great-aunt looked at me, with the most serious face I'd seen on her, and answered, "Child, your mother was a very smart child, same as you."  
  
~Which answered the question I hadn't asked. Tattie sat me at her table, which smelled like fresh talcum powder and Ysatis perfume. She reached into a large, black-lacquered jewelry box, and brought out a silver ring, set with one garnet. "I gave this to your mother when she turned 16," Tante Melisande said, "and I give it to you." She placed the ring in my hand, closing the fingers over it. "Keep it safe. Never let your daddy take it from you."  
  
~Funny thing: I still have it. Not once have I let anyone take it from me-- -not the paternal unit, not my foster family, no-one. Still leaves me a little thunderstruck.  
  
~Did my mother love me? I don't know. All I remember is that 13-year-old girl, shy and gangly, looking at the camera with sad eyes. And I wish I could go back to that day, take her hand, and tell her how lovely she was, how loved she was, and how she'd make a wonderful mother someday.  
  
~Did my mother love me? As I said, I really don't know.  
  
~I do know my father---if I may call him that---never forgave me for having her face, her eyes, her hair. Never forgave me for leaving her womb, squalling and naked, as her breathing slowed.  
  
~Alfonso Gner never forgave the doctor who informed him his 21-year-old wife had died shortly after giving birth to a healthy baby boy. As for the nurses who bathed me, put me in a crib, saw me through the first 48 hours, well, you can guess!  
  
~Tattie Mellie would tell me that my mother watched me, from heaven, and that if I paid attention, I could hear her. She said to me, "Angel, did you know your mother stands beside you while you sleep? And when you have nightmares, she keeps you safe."  
  
~Angel? Not a word I would use to describe myself. Unless, of course, you're talking the fallen ones: those that rebelled, so the Christians put it, against their deity's authority. And yet, I sometimes wish I were six, and in the country, with Tattie and Nonc'.  
  
~I wish my mother were here.  
  
~But what could I offer her? She would recoil at the blood and rage that lacerate my sleep. Does a known sociopath, with a violent past, really merit the love of a mother? And how many times did Alfonso let me know that I had her blood on my hands? So why should I want something as unreal, as absurd, as a mother, as "I love you"?  
  
~Love is a word. Words disobey. What point is there to this introspective torture?  
  
~But if there truly is no point, why make a pact with Zero? Why the twinge when I think of him with Erts? And why keep vigil when he suffers my worst nightmares?  
  
~I want to understand. And so far, I don't. ~  
  
Hiead stopped writing, closing the journal, and slipping it into his vest, before he left the listening room.  
  
As he walked along, he passed Zero.  
  
"Evening."  
  
Zero raised an eyebrow. "Ready for dinner?" Hiead asked. "You think we can handle busing those tables?"  
  
"I guess so," Zero replied. Well, stop the world now. Hiead Gner is making small talk. Better make sure the moon hasn't turned blood red.   
  
"Oh, ha bloody ha, Enna." Last time I looked, the moon wasn't even pink.   
  
The two walked, side by side, down the corridor.  
  
Zero started singing: "It's the end of the world as we know it, it's the end of the world as we know it, it's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine."  
  
Hiead snorted, hand over mouth, as he gave the dark-haired boy a sidelong glance.  
  
Zero shrugged, and gave him a wry smile.  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Hello all, and thank you for your patience. It's been a wild time over here.  
  
In the last chapter, I should have mentioned that "Pacific Coast Party" is by Smash Mouth, and that Carlos Gardel was a famous singer in the 1930s--- his specialty being tango ballads---and a star in Argentine cinema. Sorry.  
  
Tri: And here is the next movement, for your perusal. KLMeri: thank you. I'm moved, truly and well moved. Cloa: it's not that I hate Azuma, it's just that he strikes me as being a bit too rigid with the candidates. (For an even darker take on the Instructor, read Missfortune's "Realizations.") Glad that you're enjoying the tale (and yeah, the idea of Hiead cooing is somewhat trippy!) and thanks for the compliments on the title, and the song. British pop yields some strange little gems, and "Johnny Yen" is the first James song I remember hearing (a pen pal in Los Angeles sent me a tape of her favorite British artists---and a copy of a Morrissey interview-- -many years ago). Nozomi-san: hello! And welcome back!  
  
The song that Hiead sings in the library is "Phantasmagoria in Two" by the late Tim Buckley. And the little chorus that Zero sings, later, is from "It's the End of the World as We Know it" by REM.  
  
Coming up: Zero writes a bit more in his journal, after receiving Erts' reply. Kizna writes in her journal. And at the next meeting of the Midnight Breakfast Society, the games begin! Stay tuned.  
  
Let me know what you think! Your comments---large, small, and all---are more than welcome.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa) 


	8. Zero Enna's Journal, Part Two

Chapter Seven: Zero Enna's Journal, Part Two  
  
Zero sat on his bed, waiting for Clay to leave.  
  
You're still here! Weren't you supposed to meet with Saki this evening?   
  
Clay stepped out of the bathroom, wearing fresh boxers and a white t-shirt. He had used a little gel on his bangs, pulling them away from his face.  
  
"So, Zero," Clay asked, "should I go with the usual GOA outfit, or try something else?"  
  
Zero walked over to a closet, and rummaged for a few minutes. He handed his roommate a rust-red shirt, dark khaki trousers, and a pair of dress socks.  
  
"Wear this."  
  
Clay glared at him.  
  
"Hey, dude, you asked me if you should try something new. No offense, Clay, but you can stand a little color in your life."  
  
Clay growled.  
  
"Okay, all right, lighten up there! We both know," Zero said, as he wrapped an arm around Clay's shoulder, "that you've been crushed out on Saki from day one. Am I right, or have I missed something?"  
  
"Yeah, that's right," Clay muttered. Where, and when, did he catch the vibe?   
  
"Dude, the only thing you haven't done is put up a neon sign announcing, 'Clay Cliff Fortran loves Saki Mimori! Details at 11:00!' Even the cafeteria staff see you drooling---and they know it's not over the sludge."  
  
Clay sank to the floor, head in hands. Where's a VICTIM ambush when you need one?   
  
"Hey, don't get so tetchy! You've got a great mind. And Saki may ride you roughshod, but she likes you. She's attracted to your mind---and with a little focus, she'll see what a stone fox you are."  
  
He tossed the clothing onto his bed, and walked Clay to the closet. "So that outfit's not you. Point taken. Let's see if we can't find something else."  
  
Fifteen minutes later, he held up a black roll-necked sweater and a pair of matching jeans.  
  
"Go give that a try," Zero said, shoving the taller Candidate toward the bathroom.  
  
Clay stripped away the GOA uniform, pausing to stare at his reflection. Zero banged on the door.  
  
"Let me get dressed already!"  
  
"Get a move on, dude, she won't wait all night." Clay sighed, removing the jeans from the hanger, and unzipping them. Once the jeans were on, he pulled the sweater over his head.  
  
"So, are you ready?" Zero called out.  
  
"Come on in."  
  
The two looked at the reflection in the mirror. Clay managed a smile. All right, I admit it: this is a great outfit. Not too formal, but not scruffy. Watch out, Saki, Clay Cliff Fortran, Sex God Extraordinaire, is on the prowl.   
  
"It's a good look, but you're missing something." Zero paced, before he grinned. "Wait right here, dude."  
  
He came back with a green suede vest. "Try this on."  
  
Clay slipped the vest on, studying himself in the mirror. Yow! Forget the Sex God bit---this look screams sex itself. He studied the denim molded to his hips and thighs, the cotton knit accenting the muscles of his chest, the hair grazing the nape of his neck. This vest really does add the proper touch.   
  
"Now," Zero said, grinning, "you're ready." And you look absolutely scrummy.   
  
"Tell me, where did you find all these clothes?"  
  
"The sweater and jeans are yours." And you could have found them with a little effort.   
  
"And whose vest is this?"  
  
Hiead's voice cut in. "Mine." He stepped into the bathroom, glaring at Clay and Zero. "And who gave you permission to wear that?"  
  
Zero gave him a nudge. "I'm the one who took it from the closet. Sorry."  
  
Clay froze a minute, caramel eyes widening. Oh my god. Zero apologized to Hiead. Is the Antichrist on the rise here?   
  
"What the hell is Fortran doing that he needs my vest?" Hiead threw a smoldering look at Zero.  
  
"I'll explain," the dark-haired boy answered, pulling the other out of the bathroom.  
  
Clay slipped the vest off, walking into their room, where he saw Hiead and Zero whispering.  
  
Ruby-red eyes glanced up, taking in his fellow roommate.  
  
"You're right," Hiead spoke. "It does suit him." He paused, a smirk forming, as Clay attempted to stammer. "Put it back on. Mimori won't know what hit her."  
  
Zero walked over, helping Clay into the vest.  
  
"Thanks, Hiead. I'll have your vest back by lights out. And I won't let it get damaged."  
  
"See that you don't. Oh, and as I said to Enna---next time, ask."  
  
Clay blinked. Was there something I missed here?   
  
"Go," Zero said, "and have a good time."  
  
Clay half-smiled, leaving the room.  
  
"You're forgetting something," Hiead called out. He turned to see the silver-haired Candidate, holding a pair of black boots. "Or maybe you want to be the Barefoot Casanova?"  
  
Clay returned, putting on the boots. "Thanks, I guess I was kind of excited there."  
  
"Get going, love cat, she's waiting." Zero shoved Clay to the door, giving his backside a light swat. Clay yelped, giving Zero a puzzled look, and left.  
  
"Was that necessary, Enna?" Hiead walked up to Zero, eyes lit with a dry amusement.  
  
"No." Zero looked at the floor, then at Hiead, chuckling. "But it was fun. Besides, he's spoken for, and so am I."  
  
Hiead's eyes darkened. "So you are." And that's as it should be. Or is it? "Going to the Library?"  
  
"Thought I'd have a little quiet time. Maybe another day?"  
  
"Maybe." Hiead turned to leave, when Zero's hand clasped his shoulder.  
  
"Thanks for asking, Hiead." He turned, gazing into his rival's deep blue eyes.  
  
"You're welcome, Zero."  
  
Once Hiead had left the room, Zero retrieved his journal, and once seated on the bed, started to write.  
  
~Saturday, 17 October 4209 ~  
  
~Heard from Erts today.  
  
~He told me that I could always unburden with him, not to get so wound up around Hiead, and try not to take everything to heart.  
  
~You think I'd be happy to hear from my koibito. And I am. But---damn, why am I not singing at the top of my lungs? Two months ago, I'd have run down the halls, scattering rose petals and chocolates for everyone's delight. Two weeks ago, I'd have grinned like some utter loon.  
  
~Not only that, I would have rushed to compose a reply, and I'd think of the look on his face when he opened his inbox. I'd dream of how he would laugh, cry, maybe melt with every word I said. And I'd wait for him to send another letter, to leave me weak with longing, with joy---with pure passion.  
  
~And I think of this waiting, this distance between us---he won't return to GOA until the next visit from the Pilots. Oh, there's always the off- chance that some skirmish or other will force the Pilots to dock here for refueling. But I doubt I'll be that lucky.  
  
~Did I really kiss him before VICTIM slaughtered his brother? Did we snuggle together, whispering and giggling like children at Christmas? Did we touch and taste each other, in a haze of mango sorbet and pheromones?  
  
~I know the answer to the questions. And yet, I wonder if all those things really happened to me---what was it that Zero Enna, GOA's Wonder Boy, really gave to Erts Virny Cocteau, and why? Where does the Wonder Boy begin? Where do I end? Who am I? Mother Kannon, tell me!  
  
~When I came here, I was a country boy, all raw ambition and optimism. I was my mother's only son, determined to pilot a Goddess. Determined not to let my home colony die.  
  
~Never mind zero-gravity nausea, ball-busting instructors, or insufferable, silver-haired bastards with no sense of humor. Never mind wondering if my Repairer Candidate felt like choking on bile at the fact that her rowdy, far-from-serious partner got to do what she couldn't, and just how long she could put on a happy face for the other girls---no, for herself. Never mind that encounter with Eeva-Leena, or anything. Zero Enna was here to prove his worth as a Candidate, here to ascend to Pilot status, here to wipe VICTIM off the map.  
  
~Only, well, something happened that I didn't anticipate.  
  
~After the sortie with VICTIM---the world I knew kissed me goodbye. I tried to shrug off the fact that my EX had linked itself with two others of the same kind; and for a while, I thought I could just continue sleeping, eating, training, and the like, much as I had in the past.  
  
~I couldn't. ~When I began having nightmares and waking up wounded, I knew there was no going back.  
  
~And it really smarted, thinking that there was so much going through my mind, and nobody to really hear me out. As I said earlier, much as I love the mail alerts from cocteau@gis.org, there's no substitute for the intimacy of a face that sees your face.  
  
~The objections rise: "But you know your koibito understands you, even if you're not able to muss his hair and cover his arms with butterfly kisses. And if you really want a face-to-face, you can always look up Clay, or Kizna. Zero, there are tons of people that would be honored if you sat with them for five seconds!"  
  
~But most of them would see what they wanted to see. And if I ever fell from grace, the same people who shoved me onto the pedestal would swing the wrecking ball.  
  
~Maybe they'd celebrate the downfall of another false idol. Or maybe they'd just haul the shards off to some nameless quadrant, leave them to drift till eternity's end.  
  
~I don't want tons of people kissing my ass. I just want one that sees me-- -Rei Enna---not Candidate 88, not Zenoah 01.  
  
~Someone who's watched me sick up, and makes sure that I'm cleaned up before they put me to bed.  
  
~Someone who will not automatically treat me like the Goddesses' gift to humankind, or, conversely, won't go out of their way to demonstrate what a snot-nosed, flaky little dweeb I am.  
  
~All right. So Hiead has never once failed to ridicule me, get into a quarrel, or fight with me. And falling on top of him, in a suggestive way, was probably the surest way of landing on his "Dead Meat" list. Why in the world should I believe that he would even give a flying about my life? For all I know, he could be plotting a really elaborate mind-fuck. Win the country boy's trust, wangle the most intimate details of his life with some sweet nothings, and use them for a bloodletting.  
  
~Then again, why would he risk a ream of demerits to join me in the kitchens? And why would he insist on sealing a pact, not once, but twice--- the second time, with a kiss?! More to the point: why did I follow his lead, when he drew blood? When he offered his to me, and drank in mine? You'd think we were vampires---or cohorts in some especially vicious crime.  
  
~And yet, if I said I felt revulsion at the thought of such a primal---such a binding---act, I would be lying. Hiead's blood tasted like copper and cinnamon: bittersweet, clean, and highly intoxicating. That alone should have settled the matter.  
  
~When his lips touched mine, I expected to feel venom burn through my veins. Though for all I can tell, it is. He is.  
  
~Hiead Gner is in my veins, shooting sparks through my nerves, a cold fire that levels everything in its path. I should run. Run as far and fast as I can, before this penetrates to the marrow.  
  
~Where would I go? How could I hide? He really is a part of my mind's landscape---as I am part of his. To hurt him would be to hurt myself; I know this. And there's enough hurt already on his plate. Wounds that leave no visible mark---he bears these. I'm amazed they haven't destroyed his soul altogether. His father, the foster family, and those so-called doctors treating him worse than any lab rat---that much suffering scares me, if only for the intensity.  
  
~And what scares me more is this: I would endure hell itself to keep his demons at bay. ~  
  
Zero paused, twiddling his pen between his fingers. He closed the journal, placing the pen in his vest, and left the room. He made his way to the Relaxation Room, where he climbed up a rock wall, and listened to the sounds of the waterfall.  
  
He stretched out on a patch of grass, looking at the skylight, revealing a view of the night sky. When is it ever daylight, really, in space?   
  
Zero hummed, a low tune that grew, shaped by words that were still new to his tongue: "O nosso amor não vai parar de rolar, de fugir e seguir como um rio; como uma pedra que divide o rio, me diga coisas bonitas. O nosso amor não vai olhar para trás, desencantar tema de livro; a vida inteira eu quiz um verso simples prá transformar o que eu digo. Rimas faceis, calofrios; fura um dedo, faz um pacto comigo. Um segundo, seu no meu: por um segundo, mais feliz."  
  
"Por um segundo mais feliz," he murmured. Only a second of happiness? There ought to be more than that.   
  
He rolled onto his stomach, and then resumed writing.  
  
~What's it like, to receive a gift that has no price, with no ulteriors?  
  
~I remember going to school, after the Christmas holidays, to see my classmates talking about the feasts of roast pork and turkey, of platters heaped high with cakes and pastries. They'd whisper about the midnight treats they'd receive, of hot chocolate with a little brandy mixed in, and cloud-light puffs of meringue, iced with a powdered sugar glace, with silver and gold candies topping them out. And then they'd brag about their presents: the new spinning tops, the dolls with silky blonde hair, the candy-apple red bikes that would go anywhere, forever.  
  
~Within three months, most of those lovely, sparkling things would end up in a corner, gathering dust. And when the next Christmas rolled around, they had made their way to church basements and junk heaps.  
  
~And my mother would take whatever she had managed to save, and sort through the flotsam and jetsam. She would take her finds home, cleaning them, getting them repaired, and wrapping them with parcel paper and scraps of cloth.  
  
~Someone once said "One man's trash is another man's treasure." And I suppose, after rambling about gifts, and holidays, that the saying has to pop up.  
  
~Where does the line get drawn, between trash and treasure? Many of my classmates sneered at me, for the handmade clothes, the patched shoes---and the pieced-together bike, which after the age of 10, took me to and from school. And yet---these things were dear to me, as dear as the strips of red and green velvet that graced even the smallest package.  
  
~I'd like to walk up to someone, and say, "Here I am. See me. Hear me. Trace your fingers across my lips. Know me. Love me. Let me love you. Let me show you how beautiful you are." "But you have Erts! You can tell him everything!" Can I? I mean, can I really?  
  
~I swore I would never let anything, or anyone, hurt him. And I fear that I won't be able to keep that promise. That I will end up hurting him in the most intimate of ways. That, in saying this, I already I am hurting Erts.  
  
~Hurting him, because I cannot say that he has me. ~  
  
Zero closed the journal, making his way from the Relaxation Room to the Observatory Deck.  
  
He saw Hiead, standing at a window, staring.  
  
"Come closer." Hiead spoke in a low tone. "Something's upset you."  
  
Zero walked over, until he stood at arm's length from his roommate. He took in the sweep of the silvery hair, the light from the red eyes, and the way that angle and curve shaped his face.  
  
Hiead turned to face Zero, noting the boy's eyes, deep and wintry. He felt a catch in his chest, as the dark-haired Candidate moved closer.  
  
"Shall I tell you what I see?" he said.  
  
Zero nodded, leaning forward, until a scant space remained between their mouths.  
  
"I see you." Hiead paused. "And I wonder how I haven't before." He leaned in, kissing his rival on the forehead.  
  
"Now go on, get some rest."  
  
Zero nodded, touching his fingers to Hiead's face. "Thank you."  
  
Hiead watched Zero as he turned, walking away. Little mystery---tell me, what do you see?   
  
Zero returned to the room, dressing in pajamas. He lay back, slipping into a dream:  
  
A cat looked up at him, two mismatched eyes catching his in a piercing stare. The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen where he sat, as the cat turned, yawned and fell asleep.  
  
Feet treaded over the kitchen floor, as another man wrapped his arms around Zero. He smiled at the kiss to his shoulder, and shivered when the same mouth glided along his throat and neck.  
  
A lock of silver-white hair brushed Zero's cheek.  
  
"What would you like for your birthday, Rei?"  
  
Zero laughed. "World peace."  
  
"Sorry, itooshii, no can do."  
  
"Okay, how about the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything."  
  
"Forty-two, and they bollixed the question."  
  
"Okay, how about a naked man in my bed, who's willing to feed me brunch, complete with chocolate-dipped strawberries?"  
  
"Is he cute?"  
  
"He makes straight guys weak in the knees."  
  
"Does he have a brother?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Damn, there goes my evil plot!"  
  
Zero draped an arm across his forehead, doing his best "damsel in distress" impression.  
  
"Why Hiead, you wouldn't think of ravishing poor, defenseless me, would you?"  
  
"No, I'd rather seduce you."  
  
Zero smiled in his sleep.  
  
  
  
Author's Note  
  
Hello, and thank you so much for the responses I've received.  
  
Tri: thanks for the glomp! And the encouragement. I think that Erts may end up discovering that his boyfriend is falling for Hiead.should prove for an interesting time. Luna Crescent: Welcome here. And I am honored indeed. *bows* I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. And I shall try to keep them as in character as I can---really. Jade_chan: I will continue. Thank you. Anime Cat: welcome back! Glad you enjoyed the last couple of chapters. And hey, a three-star rating equals a mark of high quality, especially in the Michelin guide. And to my invisible reviewer, thank you, thank you kindly.  
  
Music note: the song quoted here is "Mais Feliz," as sung by the lovely Bebel Gilberto. Here is a modified translation of the lyrics: "Our love will not stop rushing, moving like a river. Tell me beautiful things, like a stone that divides the river. Our love will not look back, become disenchanted, become a book's theme. I looked, all my life, for a simple word to transform what I say. Easy rhymes, goose pimples. Prick a finger, make a pact with me. Yours pressed to mine, one second: for one second, happier."  
  
Recommended fanon: Nozomi-san is back! The second half of "Ruby in the Shadows" is up; the twist she puts on the MK vampire fic gets more twisty. (I sense a YYH/MK crossover waiting to be written.) Also look for her doujinshi page at mediaminer.org. So wonderful! And Missfortune has posted chapter seven of "Realizations"; check it out. I also recommend "Green to Silver: the Journal of Draco Malfoy" for you Draco/Harry devotees out there. (You can also look this up at draco-malfoy.blogspot.com.)  
  
Next chapter: We take a peek at Kizna's journal. Clay Cliff Fortran gets a few lessons in being a Sex God. And the arrangements are made for the upcoming meeting of the Midnight Breakfast Society. Stay tuned!  
  
As always, I welcome all your comments. Thank you for reading.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa) 


	9. Interludes

Chapter Eight: Interludes  
  
  
  
Kizna Towryk woke early. The cat-eared Repairer Candidate, a light sleeper, yawned and stretched, swinging her legs to the left edge of the bed.  
  
She sprang up, as her feet touched the floor. Saki lay in her bed, sound asleep. Long red hair spilled onto the pillows and the bedspread.  
  
How did your date with Clay turn out? I bet you two talked about technology all night, and then kissed each other on the cheek. Did you not see how he looked? Or how he was looking at you? Sweet Kannon, how could you be so unclear on the concept?   
  
She threw a glance at Ikhny, whose cinnamon-brown hair covered her eyes. Damn, girl! You had to get the leader of the Bastard Brigade. How do you make it through the day without hurting him? If I were you, Hiead Gner would be in traction. I suppose it's better that you haven't given in to that urge. What did he do to make you take that measure? I don't just mean that day---and why did I not see how easily you could break down?   
  
She walked over to Ikhny, running a hand through the sleeping girl's hair. Ikhny stirred, her eyes opening.  
  
"Ohayo Kizna-chan," she whispered.  
  
"Ohayo Ikhny-chan," Kizna replied, pressing a kiss to her roommate's forehead. "Want to join me for an early walk?"  
  
"Yes," the smaller girl said. "I'd like that."  
  
Kizna smiled and reached for Ikhny's hand, giving it a squeeze. "And don't worry about changing clothes. Just throw on a robe and some slippers."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Positive. And if anyone tries to give you grief, they'll answer to me."  
  
Ikhny blushed, a tiny smile lighting her face. "Thank you Kizna."  
  
"No problem," Kizna replied, grabbing a robe from the foot of her bed.  
  
The smaller girl tossed off her bed covers, and sprinted to the closet, grabbing a robe.  
  
Kizna held a hand out to Ikhny, who took it. Would you be my firecracker?   
  
The two left their room, and walked into the corridor.  
  
They returned an hour later, arm in arm.  
  
Saki stirred, murmuring in her sleep.  
  
Kizna walked to her bed, and began tickling Saki's elbow.  
  
"Mmmmph---Clay---I'm going to scream," she said, half-mumbling.  
  
Oh, really? Kizna flashed a wicked grin at Ikhny.  
  
"Clay," she called out in a singsong voice, "what do you mean, you want us to be in your harem? I'm not that sort of girl!"  
  
Ikhny stared, then giggled. She piped up, saying, "Clay-sama, please stop. You want to break poor Saki-chan's heart?"  
  
At that instant, Saki Mimori sat, bolt upright, eyes flashing.  
  
"I don't know what you're doing here, but I'll cripple you if you take one step---"  
  
But she only saw her two roommates, holding each other, as they laughed.  
  
"You," she sputtered, glaring at Kizna. "And you," she turned to Ikhny, "I can't believe you'd pull that kind of stunt."  
  
Kizna widened her eyes and stuck out her lower lip, in a mock-innocent fashion. "I am simply appalled that you think I'd prank you." She looked at Ikhny, and started giggling again.  
  
Saki picked up a pillow, and lobbed it at the girls. They glanced at each other, nodding.  
  
"Mimori, prepare to meet your doom!" Kizna grabbed another pillow, and aimed at Saki.  
  
Ikhny threw a third pillow, laughing.  
  
Half an hour later, Saki and Kizna lay on Ikhny's bed, both girls cuddling the small Repairer between them.  
  
Ikhny sneezed, sending wispy traces of down from her glasses and onto her hair.  
  
Kizna and Saki leaned in, kissing their little captive on each cheek.  
  
"Surrender?" Kizna smirked, waiting for a reply.  
  
"Make me," Ikhny whispered back.  
  
  
  
"We'll go you one better," Saki murmured, tousling Ikhny's hair. "When we've had our wicked way, sweetness, you will beg for mercy---and love it."  
  
Ikhny's eyes widened, as Kizna kissed her nose. She gasped, as Saki and Kizna pressed in, tickling her sides.  
  
"No, not there---nwhahaha! Stop! C-can't breathe!"  
  
"What's the magic word, now, Ikhny-chan?"  
  
"No!"  
  
Kizna grinned. "Saki, darling, shall we let her up?"  
  
Saki paused. "Let me think about that. No," she whispered, "that's not the word we're looking for."  
  
"Cut it out, you guys!"  
  
"We will. All you have to do is say the word."  
  
"No, no, I won't---stop---please, please---"  
  
"Do you surrender?" Kizna smiled.  
  
"Yes! I surrender! Please, stop!"  
  
"All right," Saki and Kizna replied, releasing Ikhny.  
  
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at her roommates. The glare faded into a grin, as the three Repairers laughed.  
  
"So, ladies," Ikhny asked, "are we meeting for our lessons this afternoon?"  
  
"Most definitely," Saki replied.  
  
"As if I'd skip out," Kizna said, grabbing Ikhny by the waist. "You ready for breakfast?"  
  
"Let me down!" The cat-eared girl let go, and plumped herself onto her bed.  
  
Saki and Ikhny grabbed a change of clothes, heading to the showers.  
  
"Kizna-chan," Ikhny asked, "aren't you coming in?"  
  
"Oh, I just want to look over some notes. I'll be there in a few." Once the door to the bathroom closed, Kizna reached under her pillow, opening her digipad, and scrolling to the JOURNAL files. She opened the file, and reached for a stylus.  
  
~Sunday, 25 October 4209~  
  
~This morning I took a walk with Ikhny. She looked so sweet, sleepy eyes and a little color in her cheeks.  
  
~Does she have any idea how pretty she really is?  
  
~Oh, she doesn't have the poise and polish that Saki does. And I can't see her gliding past Hiead the way Tsukasa does around Yamagi---like the Snow Queen in the fairy tales, or Persephone in those ancient myths. She doesn't bat her lashes, pout, or use a singsong voice the way that Wrecka does. (Believe me, I thank the goddesses that she doesn't try to be a living dolly.)  
  
~Ikhny Allecto is who she is: a brown-eyed girl with cinnamon hair, a gentle voice, and a heart big enough to pulverize an entire solar system.  
  
~I could tell myself that I just want to make sure she's safe from harm, and that I never want to see her partner (a sociopath for the ages) abuse her in any way.  
  
~She would, after all, do the same for me.  
  
~But I wonder: would she press me into a wall and kiss me till I lost all sense of time?  
  
~I have to ask, as I often have to fight down similar urges.  
  
~I've wondered whom I could share this with. Roose would blush, and run away. Yamagi would also blush, and probably mutter something, before following Roose. Hiead would sneer. Clay would proceed to bore me with all the things he knows of lesbians throughout Earth's history, then make some terrible crack about being a lesbian trapped in a guy's body.  
  
~I don't really talk all that much with Tsukasa, so I can't see myself confiding in her. Wrecka would broadcast any conversation all over GOA. And if I go by what she says concerning the relationship Zero has with Erts, then the words "immoral," "perverse," and "disgusting" will definitely pop up in any gossip she spreads about Zero's "lezzie" Repairer.  
  
~While I think Saki would be simpatico, I'm not quite ready to say anything to her. I'm still trying to work out how to approach Ikhny.  
  
~Can I approach Zero, and talk with him? I dunno. He seems to be in another world of late. Yes, he and I do talk---and he maintains eye contact all the while---but he spends a good deal of time on his own. I'm a little worried.  
  
~Oh well, if I can't sit down with Zero, maybe I can unburden with Erts. Goddess knows, I need to know somebody's listening.  
  
~I hear the water coming to a halt. Better wrap this up for now. Will try to write more, later. ~  
  
Kizna tapped away, saving her entry and closing the digipad. Saki came out, pulling a GOA t-shirt over her head. A purple velvet scrunchie held her hair in a ponytail. Ikhny wore a grey top and flared, black pants. A jeweled oval barrette pulled bangs from her eyes.  
  
"You coming for breakfast or not?" Saki asked.  
  
"Sure thing, I'll just make a dash through the shower."  
  
"We'll wait," Ikhny said, reaching for a pair of sneakers.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
**************************************************************************** **  
  
Down another hallway, Clay woke to the sound of the shower, and the hiss of steam.  
  
Hiead stood at the bathroom door, towels in hand.  
  
"Morning Hiead." Please don't kill me, please, please, please.   
  
"Hmm." He opened the door, walking into billowing clouds of steam.  
  
A voice rose from the haze: Clay sat up, with a groan. One of these days, Hiead is going to rip Zero's vocal cords out. Enna, do you like walking that ragged edge?   
  
He rubbed his temples with a thumb and forefinger. This is going to be a long day.   
  
In the bathroom, Hiead stripped, turning on the water in a shower stall. He paused, listening to the voice in the stall next to his.  
  
"Hand in glove, the sun shines out of our behinds. No, it's not like any other love; this one is different because it's us. Hand in glove, we can go wherever we please; and everything depends upon how near you stand to me. And if the people stare, then the people stare. Oh, I really don't know and I really don't care!"  
  
"Some of us want to shower in peace, Enna," Hiead grumbled.  
  
"Bite me, Gner," Zero replied, and resumed singing: "Hand in glove, the good people laugh. Yes, we may be hidden by rags, but we've something they'll never have! Hand in glove, the sun shines out of our behinds. Yes, we may be hidden by rags, but we've something they'll never have! And if the people stare, then the people stare. Oh, I really don't know and I really don't care. La, la la la, la la la; la, la la la! So, hand in glove, I'll stake my claim; I'll fight to the last breath. If they dare touch a hair on your head, I'll fight to the last breath! For the good life is out there somewhere; so stay on my arm, you little charmer. But I know my luck too well. Yes I know my luck too well; and I'll probably never see you again. And I'll probably never see you again. I'll probably never see you again!"  
  
Zero turned off the water, humming. He toweled himself dry, grabbing a pair of khakis and a black pullover.  
  
Once dressed, he returned to the room, bumping against Clay.  
  
"Amazing. He's alive."  
  
"No, Fortran, I'm a zombie, and I've just had Gner's brain for breakfast." Zero snorted, looking over his roommate, who sat at the edge of his bed. "Ready to review?"  
  
"I haven't even brushed my teeth, Zero! Why now?"  
  
"You're going to run into Saki at some time during the day. Don't you want to be ready?"  
  
"Ready for what?"  
  
"Whatever the day brings, love cat."  
  
Clay sighed, pulling on his glasses. "So where do I start?"  
  
"Tell me: what's your sexiest feature?"  
  
"My brain."  
  
Zero pulled on socks and a pair of low boots. "And what makes the brain so sexy?"  
  
"I can think about what will make Saki weak in the knees, and work out how to make that happen."  
  
"Exactly. And how do you do that?"  
  
"In the way I walk, what I say, how I dress, and a host of other actions."  
  
"What do you not want to do, as a Sex God?"  
  
"Act like a slobbering jackass in Saki's presence."  
  
"Show me what you don't ever want to do."  
  
Clay got up, swaggering toward Zero, a leer on his face. "Hey there baby, you tired? You've been running through my mind all day."  
  
Zero looked at him, and replied, "Dude, if I were her, I'd bolt. Now, show me what you want to do."  
  
Clay backed up, then walked around the room; he put a little bounce and sway in each step. He maintained eye contact with Zero, moving closer to the blue-eyed boy.  
  
"Hello, Saki," he said, a low purr in his throat. "May I join you for breakfast?"  
  
"You may," Zero replied, smiling. "Very good. Just remember to breathe, and stay calm."  
  
Clay smiled back. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He grabbed a towel, and made a beeline for the bathroom. "Do you want to meet later on?"  
  
"Not today. Let's just kick back." Clay opened the bathroom door, missing Hiead, who walked out in a robe, a towel around his neck.  
  
Ruby-red eyes glanced at Zero, who flashed a wry smile.  
  
"Meet me at the Library?"  
  
"Yes," Hiead replied, zipping up a pair of black jeans.  
  
"Ta then."  
  
Hiead pulled a maroon shirt on. "Later."  
  
Zero darted into the hallway.  
  
Hiead finished dressing, and left for breakfast.  
  
Don't run. Don't hurry. And whatever you do, don't act like the brat.   
  
Silvery hair fluttered over his eyes; he paused outside the cafeteria, and drew in a breath.  
  
Mother Kali, deaden my palate, at least till tomorrow night.   
  
He exhaled, and walked up to the serving line.  
  
  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Well, hello everyone, and thank you for reading on! Hope that Hanukkah was good, and that the Christmas break gives rest, refreshment, and peace.  
  
I realize it has been a while, and I do apologize for the wait. Classes have been draining, and there has been a good deal of excitement at home--- among other things, I spent time with a nasty case of flu. (I'm still a little tapped out.)  
  
Omzack: welcome, bienvenidos, and wilkommen. Thank you for the feedback; the colony in question is a sort of "pleasure cell"; I may write a side story about the colony. See how things shake out. I hope to hear more feedback. AA-chan: hello again! I am glad you have been enjoying the arc! Let me know what you think of this new chapter! Anime Cat: yup, I know about Zero's mother tongue. And I will be hunting down a few more songs in Portuguese, for upcoming chapters. (And I encourage everyone---look for the music of Bebel Gilberto. She is a great singer!) Crystal: greetings and salutations! Thank you for the (angel) food for thought. Truly. UE: so good to hear from you, dear. As for it getting hotter than Clay-sama--- he is a sexy, sexy beast (nudge, nudge, wink, wink). And as for the interaction and introspections, there is definitely more to come. Lil_angelgirl: hello again. Here's the next chapter. I hope to make some more headway, now that the semester is done. Ichan: thank you, and I hope this chapter provides wonderful reading. Nozomi-san: the secret is out. Clay is a hottie. (I myself have a thing for guys in glasses---something about them that is so appealing.) KLMeri: hello angel, and thank you for the review of "Sleep of the Beloved." And for reading on. I think Clay makes a wonderful Sex God. He has the intellect, the imagination, and the wit; all he needs is a good nudge in the right direction. Luna Crescent: I read the fourth chapter of "Barbie in her Plastic Perfection." Savagely funny. (Are you sure you're not paying tribute to George Romero?) As for the OC/MS showdown idea---I'd like to have a bash. Do let me know what you think of this chapter. And look for more. And to tdjtoonami@aol.com: I have no intention of stopping. Look for more in the series. And write back!  
  
Music note: in the shower, Zero sings "Hand in Glove," written by Morrissey and Johnny Marr, and performed by their (late lamented) band, The Smiths. What Morrissey was thinking when he penned the lyrics---who can say?  
  
I've been thinking of adding a Free Space column sometime down the line. There are a host of things on my mind, and I really would like your input.  
  
Recommendations: for all you Potter slash lovers, I recommend "Life Left Behind," by Kiara, "Comfort and Joy" by onyxmoon (Snape/Lupin), and "Elementals of Magic: Prophecy of Lies" by mistykasumi. Look also for the latest chapter of Nozomi-san's "A Death at Hand." I also recommend Missfortune's site, For-Chan Cookies.  
  
Next chapter: the Midnight Breakfast Society meets again. Let the games begin!  
  
As always, I look forward to hearing from you. Comment, critique, praise, flames---please do write! If you haven't written, please do.  
  
Thank you for reading.  
  
Antoinette (poetisa)  
  
P.S. Here is a recipe for Rich Chocolate Sauce! Enjoy!  
  
Rich Chocolate Sauce  
  
¼ tsp. Almond extract 1 tsp. Vanilla extract 1 cup whipping cream 11-12 oz. Chocolate  
  
In a small saucepan, scald the cream, until it is nearly at the boiling point. (Since cream has a higher butterfat content than milk, I advise that you keep a very close eye on it!) Once it is hot enough, remove it from the heat, and add the extracts. Pour the hot cream into a bowl with the chocolate. Stir until the chocolate is melted, then whisk the mixture. Let it cool; serve with strawberries, ice cream, or spongecake. Store leftover sauce in the refrigerator. 


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